


Gold Feathers

by AdaMarina



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Also DoubleDuck too, But mostly DT17 and PK, DT17/Paperinik Crossover, Magic AU, Magic leaves a physical mark, Magic!Donald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:58:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdaMarina/pseuds/AdaMarina
Summary: He discovered it when he was five.





	Gold Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I posted this on tumblr but never posted it here.
> 
> For the record, I adore Magic!Donald universes and this is one of many I have.

He discovered it when he was five.

At the farm with Della and Gladstone, the three of them were playing out by the pond when Donald paused and picked up a dying flower- a soft purple, small and fragile bellflower- that had been picked by his cousin (for Della) just earlier that day.

He quietly lamented over the flower, gently stroking its drying petals.

He didn’t notice it at first, but soon he realized the flower was slowly growing bright again, its petals softening, and soon the dying flower was back in perfect order. A glow he hadn’t even noticed dimmed down, leaving behind an odd shimmer on the flower.

_Did I do that?_ he wondered, but he couldn’t really believe it- Donald didn’t have many memories, but Gladstone was the one who made good things happen. Not Donald.

Wanting to test it, Donald picked up the flower Della had picked for Gladstone (in return for the flower he picked for her), a lovely, simple yet elegant golden tulip from Grandma’s garden. Nothing happened and he frowned.

How did it work?

Setting Della’s flower on the ground, he gently cupped Gladstone’s and closed his eyes. He focused on that desire to see it flourish, healthy and alive, and in his small hands he felt it shift, the brittle stem revitalizing faster than Della’s had.

“Donny!” Della gasped, and Donald opened his eyes just before the glow from his hands faded. Della and Gladstone ran over to him, the toys they’d been playing with left abandoned.

Donald opened his hands to show them the healthy bloom. It seemed to shimmer, just as Della’s had.

“Woah,” Gladstone gasped, hesitantly taking the flower from his hand. “It’s colourful again.”

“How did you do that?” Della demanded, picking up her bellflower with wonder. “It’s bright and sparkly...”

“I don’t know,” Donald admitted, hesitantly picking up the blue dahlia- that one Grandma would _not_ be happy about them picking- that Della had given to Donald when she gave the tulip to Gladstone. “I just... thought about it,” he added, holding the bushy flower in his hands and closing his eyes.

Della and Gladstone watched in amazement as the dahlia began glowing, its withering petals softening again. When the glow faded, it was shimmering the same as the others.

Della and Gladstone spent the rest of that day handing him miscellaneous plants to heal. By the time they went home, Donald was exhausted.

He kept the dahlia close, just as Della her bellflower and Gladstone his tulip.

They didn’t wither away again.

* * *

 Donald discovered he could do a lot of things. He could make the water in their uncle’s swimming pool move. He could make the flames on a candle dance. If he focused hard enough, he found he could make himself float (though that last one left him feeling so drained he immediately went to take a nap).

He even found that, the more he used his own abilities, the more he could sense other people with gifts like himself. He could feel it in the air around him, rolling off of people in wisps or waves, swirling around in gentle containment or lashing out in wild abandon. Della and almost their entire family on the Duck side had bare traces- not enough for them to do anything, but more than most people in Duckburg. Gladstone had a little more, a gentle energy cocooning him and often reaching out to other objects or people.

He never knew just how strong these abilities, which he, his sister and his cousin stubbornly hid from the rest of the family, were until he was eight years old and alone with Fethry, his sweet yet odd six year old cousin.

Della had gone to a sleepover with some of their classmates, and Gladstone was off who-knew-where. Fethry’s brother was sick that day, and Fethry had been dropped off at Grandma’s so his parents could focus on Abner.

It had happened so fast- they were playing by the pond, like they so often did, when his cousin ran onto the little pier that Donald remembered fishing with his dad on.

Donald chased him. “We’re not allowed here without an adult!” he reminded his cousin, but Fethry just laughed. Then Fethry turned around to look at him-

His feet slipped. The dock was wet. Donald screamed, trying to catch him, but Fethry fell, his head colliding painfully with the pier on his way down.

He didn’t remember much after that. It was a blur. He remembered diving in after Fethry- the water was cold. It was November.

Fethry was bleeding and unconscious. He was sinking fast. Donald reached out to grab him but he couldn’t swim fast enough, not when his cousin was breathing in the water-

And then he was on the grass and Fethry wasn’t bleeding, he was coughing and gasping and breathing clearly but Donald didn’t do anything, he didn’t remember doing anything, and Gladstone was there too, before he ran off to get Grandma.

Later, when Donald asked Gladstone how he knew something was happening, Gladstone explained, “I heard you scream, and I went to the pond. When I got there, though, it was... weird.”

“What do you mean?” Donald asked, curling into his blanket. He was shivering.

“The water was swirling around the edges of the pond,” Gladstone explained, trying to use his hands as a visual. “It kept going faster, and you and Fethry were in the mud at the bottom of the pond. The water was just going around you, and you grabbed Fethry and ran over to me- and the water _opened.”_ Gladstone hesitated, staring at Donald almost worriedly. “The water fell back in place behind you but opened in front of you. It wouldn’t touch you. And then you jumped from the bottom onto the bank and...”

“And?” Donald asked, feeling almost afraid. He had never done anything like what Gladstone was saying- he couldn’t even _remember_ doing it.

He felt afraid, and Gladstone didn’t look much less either.

“Fethry wasn’t breathing or moving. You put your hands on his chest and closed your eyes, and your hands started glowing. And then Fethry started coughing out water, and I went to get Grandma.”

“What about his head?” Donald asked.

“His head?”

“He hit his head. He was bleeding.”

“No he wasn’t...”

The cousins just looked at each other, neither sure of what to say. Donald knew Fethry had been bleeding, but Gladstone said that he wasn’t.

When Donald went to sleep that night, he had nightmares- the pond turning into a whirlpool and sucking everything and everything he loved in. Rising up, leaving only himself untouched.

When he woke up, he vowed he’d never do it again.

* * *

 He lasted two months, avoiding Fethry’s questions, Della’s pleas to show her more, and Gladstone’s nervous glances.

He lasted two months before the pressure coursing through his body exploded outwards.

Donald felt it coming. It was slipping through his grasp- and it was the worst moment ever, because Mickey and Goofy were over playing with him, Della and their cousins. It was overwhelming and he could barely breathe.

Gladstone was the one who noticed he’d stopped moving. “Donald...?” he asked, and Donald wasn’t sure if his worry was for his own safety or Donald’s.

Donald didn’t answer. Instead he turned and ran into the woods.

“Donald!” Della yelled, but Donald didn’t stop running. He made it a fair distance into the woods before a bright flash of blue, mixed with black and shades of violet, lashed violently around, striking at the trees, the ground, anything around him.

He screamed and dropped down, wrapping his arms over his head as the clearing heated up. He could _feel_ the trees and grass around burst into flame as the electric energy zapped it all.

Then it was gone as suddenly as it had come, leaving him drained, afraid and crying in the center of the scorched clearing.

Around him the trees continued to burn.

“Donald!” he heard Della call, and then she was there.

Fear spiked through Donald. “No!” he screamed, shoving himself away from her. “I don’t want to hurt you!” he sobbed, covering his face as his cousins and friends came to a stop behind Della. “I’m scared! I don’t w-want t-t-to _hurt_ you b-b-but I c-can’t _control_ it...!”

Despite his words, Della pulled him into a hug. He struggled briefly before giving up, burying his face into her hair.

Gladstone hesitated before going over to them, dropping down next to Donald and hugging him as well. Soon, Fethry, Mickey and Goofy joined them, and rather than being at the center of disaster Donald found himself at the center of their comfort.

“It’s okay,” Mickey said. “It’ll be okay.”

Donald cried and held on to them, not noticing as the flames dissipated into the air.

Later that night, as he, Gladstone and Fethry (who was staying the night) climbed into their beds, Gladstone said, “I think you should use it again.”

“What if I hurt someone?” Donald asked quietly, his voice rough from crying. “You saw what I can do.”

“When you can’t help it.” Gladstone tugged on the comforter, settling down next to Fethry. Their younger cousin just listened quietly, watching them. “You didn’t hurt us before. It was okay before you tried to not use it.”

“Maybe you have’ta learn,” Fethry spoke up, peeking at Donald over Gladstone. “Or else it builds up! Like... like water behind a wall. And if you don’t use it, it’ll pile up and spill!”

“Or break the wall,” Gladstone added, nodding thoughtfully.

Back then Donald didn’t know about magic buildup or magical backlash. Years later, when he thought about this exchange, he was almost blown away by how accurate his six and eight year old cousins had been about something none of them understood.

At the time, however, he didn’t know. But it made sense to him.

He had felt it building up, energy buzzing beneath his skin, steadily over those two months. Maybe, he thought, his cousins had a point.

So he nodded. “I think you’re right,” he agreed, and the next morning he showed Della and Gladstone how he made a leaf twirl in the air above his hand.

* * *

 At eleven, the farm hit a hard time. The crops were failing, and Grandma didn’t have enough to go around. At night, Donald, Della and Gladstone would creep around, listening to Grandma speaking to different people.

“This will affect us for years to come,” she had lamented to someone on the phone.

“I don’t have enough to feed the kids _and_ pay the farmhands,” she had confided in someone else.

As such, all three children knew before Grandma told them that they were being sent to live somewhere else for a while.

“It’s just for a year,” she promised her grandchildren as all three of them climbed into a car that would take them to their uncle’s house. “Then, if you want to, you can come back.”

They loved their uncle- he told amazing, fantastical stories of adventure and lived in a house big enough for them to run around freely in- but being away from Grandma was... not ideal for them.

But it passed. They were expected to help around the house and the yard, as much work was fitting for three children, and Donald and Della fell into a comfortable routine. They found they liked living there, away from the smell of fertilizer in the summer, not having to watch where they stepped out in a pasture and such things.

Gladstone, on the other hand, hated every moment they were there. He and Scrooge didn’t get on too well. Scrooge was frustrated that everything he told Gladstone to do would get done with no help from his half-goose nephew, and Gladstone was frustrated that Scrooge just didn’t understand that he _literally_ could not help it- that he had no control over it at all.

When the end of the year came, Donald knew Grandma was still struggling. He chose to stay at the mansion, and Della did too. Gladstone, however, went back to the farm.

“Do you think you should tell Uncle Scrooge?” Della asked Donald one day when they were twelve, exploring Scrooge’s garage. Donald was focusing on all the different forms of magic in there, feeling how it pulsed and moved, and it was almost as if he could understand it intuitively. “I mean, he has all these cool magic things, maybe he’d know how to help.”

“Maybe,” Donald agreed.

And he decided he _would_ tell Scrooge.

It was too bad Magica chose to drop in. Scrooge kept Della and Donald behind him while fending off the witch, and afterwards had said, “Witches, bah! The lot of them are a bad sort. Let this be a lesson to ye, kids- keep your distance from anyone involved in magic.”

(Yet ironic, Donald would later find out, that Scrooge would say this when he was friends with literal gods, whose magic power was so much more than any sorcerer Donald had ever met. Overwhelmingly so, he could hardly even breathe on Ithaquack with all the magic pulsing and swirling together, competing for dominance over one another. They knew him for what he was immediately but never said a thing- beings so powerful know better, especially when neither Scrooge nor Della give off the waves.)

Donald and Della looked at each other and linked hands. They stayed quiet.

But Donald didn’t stop using it. He didn’t want to risk another buildup like what happened when he was eight. He kept practicing, and the more he practiced the stronger it got.

It was unsteady, unrefined, untrained magic, but no one was being hurt. That was better than the alternative.

* * *

 Scrooge started taking them on adventures when they were thirteen, and at fourteen Donald met the Sorcerer.

He was an old dog- Scrooge claimed him to be a con artist, unable to feel the waves of magic rolling off of him. The Sorcerer, in turn, focused on Donald, undoubtedly able to feel his magic as well.

“Powerful magic, for one so young,” he commented when Donald finally approached him, feeling drawn to the man. “A young sorcerer- takes one to know one,” he had added with a chuckle.

Later, Donald would learn, only sorcerers could feel magic like that. Witches and wizards and mages and such, they were limited. A sorcerer’s magic, though...

“I don’t want to limit myself,” Donald decided when he was fifteen and the Sorcerer, now his mentor, was urging him to choose a specialization. “I want to learn it all.”

“Not even a sorcerer, in all the years he has, has enough time to learn all magic,” the Sorcerer told Donald. “It is best to master one.”

Donald considered it before shaking his head. “I want to learn as much as I can. Everything’s so interesting! And besides, it could come in handy.”

The Sorcerer didn’t seem to approve, but he nodded and taught Donald the base of all magic, and the basics of the different subjects (as well as he knew how, as he had mastered in illusion magic) of magic. He taught him alchemy, runes, sigils, seals, potions, battle magic, healing magic, light magic, dark magic- everything that he knew, he taught to Donald, all without Scrooge’s knowledge.

When Donald had learned all he could from the old Sorcerer and turned seventeen, the Sorcerer gifted him with a staff.

“It will help you hone your magic,” he told Donald with a smile. “And it will enable you to control it better, concentrate it more and be more precise when you aim your spells. All sorcerers like ourselves need one- the magic that courses through us can at times be uncontrollable. This will help.”

The last lesson Donald had before he graduated from _apprentice_ was how to use the staff, and he felt an immediate difference.

Magic, particularly strong magic, had left him exhausted as he focused so hard to keep it in his hands, focused so hard to keep it where it needed to be. The staff, however, seemed to resonate with the magic within himself, and when he channeled his magic through it, the magic obeyed without struggle.

It was exhilarating.

He showed Della, and she marvelled over the craftsmanship- the hand-carved white oak and the pale blue crystal set into the rosegold head of the staff. It looked like an artifact that Scrooge would have gone after, had he known it existed.

And it belonged to Donald.

* * *

 It wasn’t always easy, hiding his magic. It was like having a secret identity- he kept his staff hidden in its own little pocket dimension (learning _that_ spell had been... difficult, to say the least), which could only be accessed when he cast a certain spell.

Sometimes, he’d be showing Della a new spell he learned when Scrooge would barge in, saying something about discovering the location of a new lost civilization. Donald would panic and shove the staff into the pocket dimension, thankful he always kept his back to the door.

That problem was solved when he figured out how to create wards to warn him someone was approaching.

Then, sometimes on an adventure, there’d be trouble. His fingers would twitch, he knew he could get them out. Della would notice and shake her head, even when she was being held captive by a creature that could only be described as...

Scratch that, it couldn’t be described.

He’d be seconds away from throwing his secret aside when Scrooge would work a miracle and everyone got out safe and sound.

“Don’t ever reveal yourself for me,” Della told him earnestly when they were fifteen, when he was still an apprentice, holding tightly to his hands. “We don’t know what will happen when Uncle Scrooge finds out.”

When. Not if.

But Donald promised her- he wouldn’t give up his secret.

So he hid it from Scrooge. He kept hiding it, even when it got harder. When the magic became more obvious.

When it started to show in his feathers.

He noticed the gold tinge on his fingertips and in his palms before he turned eighteen, and he contacted the old Sorcerer who told him it was normal- magic often came with physical changes, he’d said. Sometimes it was the colour of their fur or feathers. Other times it was the colour of their hair or eyes. Less often, though- less often, it was the colour of their blood, or a sudden development like thorns, spines or wings.

“It’s natural,” he assured Donald, patting his gold-tinged hands comfortingly. “Just be glad you only have changing feathers.”

“How do you hide it?” Donald asked, gazing down at his palms. It was barely noticeable but, he knew, it would only grow.

“There are different ways,” the Sorcerer told him, pulling the sleeves of his sweater up and tugging the gloves he always wore off. Donald’s eyes widened, observing how the silver- stark, strongest at his fingertips- covered the entirety of his hand rather than just the fingertips and palm, and extended down his arm. The sorcerer then pulled the neck of the sweater down, showing him the web-like pattern of silver reaching up his neck.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that the silver was extending from his hands, where he channeled all his magic into his staff, to cover his entire body.

_That will happen to me._

Pity- Donald didn’t think he’d look good with gold feathers.

“I use clothing to cover mine, but you can use a charm. Dyes don’t work- the magic will show through.”

Donald let it be for the time being- it was barely noticeable, after all, and he needed to think about it. If Scrooge noticed, he didn’t say anything.

* * *

 He became a hero completely by accident.

“You should stop doing magic,” Della had said when he showed her his hands and explained what he was told. “Who knows what else it’s doing to you?”

“It’s too late,” he told her. “Besides- I can’t stop using it. You saw what happened when we were kids.”

Donald didn’t have a choice in the matter, but Della still argued- if it was changing the colour of his feathers, what else might it have been doing?

“What if magic is just a form of radiation?!”

“Then I’m already doomed.”

She wouldn’t just let it drop, nor did she seem to understand, so, frustrated, Donald went out to blow off steam. Not wanting to be recognized, he’d used a charm to change his appearance- well, kind of, just his clothes and added a mask- and went out pulling petty pranks on the people in town he held a grudge against.

It just became something he did, even after Della came around and agreed that stopping would be the worst thing he could do, especially for his own safety. He even decided, so that he didn’t have to cast the charm every time, to create the suit he conjured up.

He found an old Halloween costume that he determined had the right amount of mass for the conversion, and he locked his bedroom door in order to transfigure the old costume into a new one, and then he made it permanent. The mask was done much the same way, but to that he stuck a few extra permanent charms.

No one would be able to look at him and know who he was. The mask cast a very small illusion, barely noticeable even to himself, that made him look just slightly different. It was a negligible difference, no one would ever be able to pinpoint what it is, but if anyone were to look at Donald Duck and Paperinik side by side, they wouldn’t think for one second that they looked alike.

He decided to add gloves to the costume, worried that the gold tinge could give him away if anyone noticed it.

And it was fun for a while, just anonymously getting revenge on the people around him. He didn’t _mean_ to become a hero.

But he did, and he couldn’t go back.

He didn’t mind, though. That was the most surprising thing; he found that he _wanted_ to protect this city.

So at eighteen years old, he accepted his place as Duckburg’s new hero, and put his avenging ways behind him.

* * *

 He was almost twenty when he met Uno on the 151st floor of Scrooge’s newly-acquired skyscraper.

If the AI could feel the strange energy that surrounded Donald- that rolled off him in waves- he didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask any questions. He easily accepted Donald as the new caretaker of Ducklair Tower, the owner’s nephew, his ally and his first friend.

Donald wasn’t sure how much the AI knew, or how he’d react to such things, so he kept the magic far away from his job as Paperinik.

And if Donald survived something he shouldn’t have, Uno didn’t voice any suspicions. If, at the last moment, someone changed their mind, Uno didn’t question it (or he did, but he never accused Donald of anything). If a hairbrained plot that didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell actually worked, Uno would be confused but never said anything to suggest he suspected Donald of it.

And if sometimes, when Donald returned from an adventure with Della and Scrooge or a fight with aliens or mutants with bruises, cuts or other injuries that would be gone by the next day, Uno didn’t say anything.

Donald sometimes considered telling him, even moreso the closer friends they became. Uno had quickly become his closest friend and confidant, the one who he told everything to- about the disastrous adventures, his suffering relationship woes, and about the good things, too.

Really, Donald knew logically there was no reason to hide such a large part of who he was from Uno- Uno already knew everything else. So why?

He eventually found his answer.

“Magic isn’t real,” Uno said one day when Donald expressed interest in seeing an on-screen fortune teller, and Donald’s attention was caught. “It’s just a scam”

Donald protested, and he _almost_ said the words, _but I have magic._

And then he stopped.

Uno, the most advanced AI in the world, if not the _universe,_ could not feel magic.

Donald decided to do some experimenting. He didn’t dare try using magic _on_ Uno- there was no telling what would happen, as magic and technology didn’t always mesh well- but sometimes he’d cast a charm on himself before going in, just to see how Uno would react.

As it turned out, it took a lot of magic for Uno to actually notice.

He came in one day with a charm to make his bill blue. Uno didn’t notice the illusion. The next day he came in with the charm, but had poured more magic into it than necessary. Uno paused upon seeing him.

“Your... bill is blue.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you a little old for a phase?”

“Oh ha ha,” Donald rolled his eyes, but he had gotten the information he wanted; the AI, and in extension probably Lyla and other androids, _could_ be fooled by magic. It took more magic than it did to fool a biological creature, but it _was_ possible. He figured it was probably something to do with the magic being too subtle to be picked up by Uno’s visual, instead seeing right through it.

And Uno’s sensors never picked up on the magic energy.

So Donald proceeded to keep the two separated. Uno didn’t believe in magic, nor was he easily susceptible to it; therefore, Donald figured there was no reason to tell him.

Besides, it was nice to have some confidence outside of his magic. And it was nice to have a confidant, too.

* * *

 Everett wasn’t a sorcerer- he didn’t even _have_ magic- but he could do things Donald couldn’t.

Donald couldn’t read minds or get into people’s heads. Oh sure, he could persuade someone- cast a spell that chips away at their certainess, make them change their minds- but he couldn’t get into someone’s head without being _let_ in.

The first time Everett forced his way into Donald’s mind, Donald felt it and knew who it was immediately. He could feel the link back to the older duck, recognized the voice echoing in his mind.

When it came down to it, though, he pretended not to. He could have said, _I know you’re the one who told me what to do._ He could have said, _I know you can get in my mind._

He could have said a number of things.

But he didn’t.

If Everett knew he was a sorcerer, he didn’t say anything either.

That was fine with Donald. He wanted to keep his life as Paperinik and his life as a sorcerer separate, after all.

And if Uno ever noticed Donald only answered his phone when he called with the camera angled at the ceiling, he didn’t say anything. If he noticed it took Donald a little longer than other people to answer his phone, he didn’t mention it.

And if, for some reason he was looking for Donald, he ever noticed Donald look around for security cameras and find their blind spot, he didn’t bring it up.

* * *

 It was also a complete accident when, at twenty-three, Donald became a secret agent.

He had literally stumbled on the scene, and somehow became instrumental in the agents winning. He was asked to join up, with the alternative being his memory being erased, and he thought, _I already have one, how hard could hiding another be?_

The answer? Very.

Uno figured out immediately. Turned out the world’s most advanced AI could easily access the super secret files of even the Agency, and when he became an agent Uno knew.

The problem really came with adventures, though. Being a secret agent sometimes interfered with his hero work, but he prioritized his hero work over his agent work; the adventures, however, did not take priority over either.

If he got a call from Uno or Kay, he was off. He couldn’t tell Della and Scrooge where he was going, either- just that he’d be back as soon as he could.

On a cousin roadtrip and an alien invasion is coming?

“Sorry, guys, I know we were planning this for months but an emergency’s come up and I have to go.”

Family reunion while Belgravia plots a hostile takeover of the world?

“A close friend of mine is in the hospital and I need to go immediately, I’m sorry.”

Needless to say, his relationships started going cold.

Daisy, who he’d been dating since highschool, became distant. Donald didn’t blame her- between his job as caretaker of Ducklair tower, Paperinik, Double Duck, being an adventurer with his sister and uncle, _and_ furthering his magic studies, he had very little time to devote to their relationship or... well, anything really.

But then the Evronians were defeated and Donald had so much more time than before, and it was great-

And then Everett bought Ducklair Tower back and shut Uno down, and everything was _not_ great.

At first Donald continued his work as Paperinik- he was Paperinik before Uno, he’d be Paperinik after too. He missed his friend, and felt an overwhelming guilt at having hidden such a large part of himself from the one person who knew everything else about him.

So Uno was gone, and Donald missed him terribly- but Paperinik was still there.

And then Della wasn’t.

His entire world shattered, falling apart around him. Scrooge and Della, so used to him having “more important things to do” now, hadn’t even thought to invite him with them to find the mysterious Spear of Selene.

Instead, they brought that cursed spear back and Donald was overwhelmed with fear as pure _understanding_ slammed into him with its twisting, dark, suffocating magic. It stifled him, and somehow he just _knew_ what the spear did.

That thing- it turned magic into shadow, banishing its target _and_ its user into the world between worlds, so that they existed in neither.

He took Della by her hands and told her to never use that spear- ever. Never use it, and never allow Scrooge to use it. And his biggest regret... was explaining to her _why._

He couldn’t bear to lose them, too. He didn’t want them to only live in his memories, the same way Uno did.

That spear was nothing but trouble, and he couldn’t fathom why such a terrible, dark artifact was named after the goddess who would have reviled such a thing.

It was not something any magician wanted around. Donald didn’t want it around. It caused his magic to spike unexpectedly, and the magical artifacts in Scrooge’s garage reacted badly as well. It was as if anyone and anything with magic instinctively _knew_ what this... _thing_ was. Even Gladstone, whose magic was so weak compared to Donald’s- a passive magic he couldn’t control nor even _knew_ to be magic- had taken three quick steps back when Della lifted it up to show him.

Later, after Della had gone to put the spear back into its display, Gladstone confessed to Donald he hated the thing, no matter how physically beautiful it was- gold and encrusted with gems, it was something Scrooge would have wanted no matter the cost.

Well... except _one_ cost.

A few well-placed myths about the spear where Donald knew Scrooge would find them led to Scrooge sitting them down and telling them, under no circumstances, were they to even touch the spear again. It would stay in the safest place in Duckburg- right in Scrooge’s Moneybin. Donald wished he’d chuck the thing into the deepest part of the ocean, but he kept his mouth shut.

Every time he even so much as walked into the Moneybin afterwards, though, he could feel the tendrils of that terrible artifact reaching for him, trying to entwine itself into his magic.

It should have been okay, though. The Moneybin was safe from outside forces- it was the safest place to keep the spear so no one could use it.

Except they hadn’t considered someone on the inside taking it.

Magica de Spell, a witch whose magic lashed just as dark and savagely as the spear, had half the city under hypnotism and the other half trapped in buildings as her minions attacked everyone and everything in sight. Scrooge was trying to find a way to beat her without giving up his dime, and Donald was seconds away from pulling his staff out to fight her, magician to magician.

She was a master of darkness. He was a jack-of-all-trades sorcerer. He knew he wouldn’t win- not alone. But maybe he could buy time for Scrooge and Della to win-

And then he saw her, the spear clutched in her hands as she stood behind Magica.

“Della, no!” Donald screamed at the same time Della’s eyes began to glow violet, the spear’s energy latching onto her, swirling around her and wrapping around her arms, up to her shoulders, her neck, her face, her torso- and with a start Donald realized it was manifesting, the energy turning as violet as her eyes as Della faced down Magica.

“No!” he heard Scrooge cry out, horrified, even as Magica shrieked and started turning into shadows.

Donald ran to Della, reaching out to stop her before the spell was complete, but his hand went through her and he realized she was already a shadow.

“No!” he cried, trying desperately to grab her, even as the shadow of her, Magica and the spear began disappearing. “No!”

And then she was gone, and Donald dropped to his knees.

When they hatched, he gave her children the names she wanted for them and vowed to himself that he would never let any harm come to them.

He and Scrooge didn’t talk again for ten years.

* * *

 Taking the triplets in changed everything in Donald’s life. He moved out of the mansion, buying a houseboat with what he’d saved up from adventures. All of his books, his cauldron, his potions vials, everything went under the trap door in the boat, under lock and key and out of reach of the three ducklings. He stopped being Paperinik. He didn’t quit being an agent- the guaranteed income would be a relief when things got rough- but he did change his status to part-time. He was one of their best agents, so they put him on a code-red only schedule, allowing him to focus on the kids. He and Daisy broke up- a mutual and long-coming breakup, both knowing Donald just had too many priorities that came before romance. They cried, but agreed it was for the best.

Everything changed. He no longer had a sister. No longer had an uncle. No longer had a girlfriend. He practically no longer had a cousin in Gladstone (and Fethry was rather flighty), who dropped off the map after Della disappeared. He was no longer an adventurer, or a hero, and he was only a secret agent part of the time. And he was now poor, having taken only that which he owned- nothing from the account Scrooge had opened for him once he took them in.

He didn’t want a cent of Scrooge’s money. He’d rather starve.

Only one thing remained the same; he didn’t stop doing magic. It was still, he knew, dangerous to stop, especially with three children in the house. He couldn’t risk magical backlash or buildup- he had to keep up with it. But he continued to practice only in secret. They didn’t need to know.

Of course, nothing’s ever quite that simple, especially for Donald Duck.

When they were three, he noticed the energy developing. It wasn’t strong, but it was there, and as they grew older it seemed to solidify and grow stronger.

It wasn’t the sheer, whipping energy of a witch, nor the intimidating, encompassing energy of a sorcerer. Each one’s energy was unique and unlike anything Donald had felt before.

Huey, the oldest, had an almost flickering energy. It twisted around him and extended from him, dissipating into nothingness if it reached out too far. It was wild, in its own way, and its movement was unpredictable.

Dewey, the middle, had a much gentler energy- it was flowing in a way Donald had never felt before, so calm and so unlike the duckling himself. It flowed, moving gently with every motion he made, and stayed close to him rather than reaching out.

Louie, the youngest, had... well, Donald almost didn’t know how to explain it. It didn’t flow, or flicker, or swirl, or twist, or anything. It was very... still. Calm. It moved with him, and sometimes pieces of it seemed to move on their own, never twisting around Louie but only within itself, as if it was layered. It was the only way Donald knew how to explain it.

Della’s children had, evidently, inherited some form of magic. Donald wasn’t sure what kind, though.

And then, when they were six and Donald’s own hands were completely gold from magic, he did.

“Uncle Donald!” he heard Dewey’s shriek in the middle of the night, and he ran like a madman to their room.

They were curled together in the corner on the other side of the room, a fire spreading between them. Huey cried, the energy around him having flared up in a way that actually scared Donald. It seemed to flicker in time with the flames.

“I didn’t mean to!”

_Fire._

Was that energy the energy of an elemental?

He wasn’t sure, but he had to put the fire out. But if it was a magic fire, then he knew so long as Huey had no control then it would only continue.

Taking a breath, he called as calmly as he could, “Huey, I need you to calm down! Listen to me, okay? You’re going to be alright.” Huey took deep breaths, both of his brothers hugging him, and looked across towards Donald. “I know it’s not easy, and it’s scary,” Donald continued, “but you need to focus on the fire. Focus on it, calm down, and think of it going away.”

Huey’s gaze slid over to the flames, tears prickling in his eyes. His energy flickered dangerously, and the fire stuttered but only grew bigger.

“Think of things that comfort you,” Donald instructed, carefully moving around the fire and towards the boys. He sat down next to them and gently set a gloved hand on the eldest’s back, watching the fire spread from the floor to the walls. “Don’t let it control you, and don’t lose control over it. We’re here for you.”

And if Donald cast a calming charm to help relax the duckling, he wasn’t going to say anything. Slowly, but surely, the duckling took a breath and closed his eyes, and soon the fire dissipated, leaving behind only scorch marks and burned posters on the wall to show it had ever even been there.

Donald vowed at that moment to help the three of them in any way he could. However, when he sat them down to explain to them what happened- and just what they were- he found he couldn’t come out and say it.

_I’m a sorcerer._ He just couldn’t. He’d been hiding it for twenty-six years now.

Besides, they didn’t need to know he was a sorcerer. They just needed to know that he knew how to help them.

* * *

 Dewey turned out to be a water elemental, Donald discovered when he woke up to find a whirlpool developing beneath the houseboat. He found Dewey crying in the bathroom, the energy around him whirling faster than Donald had ever felt it- it almost lashed out at him, its gentle calm turned into a deadly force.

“You have to calm down,” he told the frightened child, pulling him into his lap even though the magic began twisting around Donald, fighting against Donald’s own energy. Dewey hugged him tightly.

“I’m scared, Uncle Donald,” he whimpered. “I- I can’t-”

“You can,” he assures the duckling, wondering why their magic was lashing out in the first place when Donald had a relative amount of control from the start. Maybe it was because Donald discovered he could do magic when it first started developing, or maybe it was just the difference between sorcery and elemental power, he just wasn’t sure. “Just focus, think calm thoughts and imagine the water falling still.”

Dewey took a shuddering breath as Donald gently pat his back. The boat was moving, rocking dangerously in the water, but Dewey seemed to be much more a natural with his magic than Huey was as it started evening out again.

The water below fell still and Dewey opened his eyes.

“I did it?” Dewey asked, surprised, and Donald grinned.

“You sure did.”

And it was at about that moment he noticed the vine steadily growing out of the bathtub drain.

_Oh no._

He raced to find Louie, who was sitting on the couch, watching as Donald’s plants began flowering and vines crawled along the walls, forcing their way through cracks and the space between the floorboards. The energy around him was abuzz, moving in contrasting directions in layers, writhing around and twisting together so quickly it almost sent Donald reeling.

“Louie,” Donald started, and Louie looked at him so confused and with just a touch of fear. “You need to focus on reeling those plants in,” he said, sitting down next to Louie. “If they keep growing like that they’re gonna break the boat.”

“I don’t know how,” Louie said quietly.

“Just stay calm,” he said, and he could see the spark of panic in his nephew’s eyes. “Stay calm, close your eyes and focus on making them go away.”

Louie did as he was told, grabbing onto Donald’s hand for comfort, and Donald watched somewhat impressed as almost immediately the vines began withering and turning to dust.

Unfortunately so did Donald’s hanging plants, but he was willing to excuse it.

The next day began their training to control it, and when Donald had taught them everything he could within the year he found them proper teachers in their respective elements. By the time they were ten, they were exceeding peers in their age group and knew never to tell _anyone._

He still never told them he was a sorcerer.

* * *

 Donald found the dahlia the day after moving back into the mansion.

His bedroom had been left just as it had been before, its lack of dust suggesting Mrs. Beakley had continued to tend to it even after he had left.

The dahlia was still as healthy, bright, blue and shimmery as ever, sitting in its place on the shelf between a picture of him, Della, Gladstone and Fethry, and a photo album of his and Della’s adventures with Scrooge. It stopped him in his tracks, and he just held it, sat on his old bed and cried.

Della’s room was walled over, as if it had never been, but the door connecting their bedrooms together was still there. He only hesitated for a moment before going in, finding it just as she had left it too.

The bed was still a mess. Della hadn’t made it the last time she woke up. The pictures she took on their adventures were still scattered across the desk, the posters still up on the wall.

And her bellflower was on her bedside table, right where she always kept it, as healthy, bright, purple and shimmery as ever.

He wondered if Gladstone still had his tulip. He didn’t ask.

Donald decided to move back into his boat. He let the kids believe it was because of Mrs. Beakley.

* * *

 Donald was out on a mission for two weeks. He told Scrooge he’d gotten a job on a boat, and that he would be back in two, maybe three weeks- he was trusting Scrooge with the kids.

_I’m trusting you._ Those were the words that stopped Scrooge protesting Donald leaving him to deal with the children all by himself for so long.

Donald was trusting him for the first time since Della disappeared eleven years before.

So he went on his mission. He was out of reach for two weeks and three days, and he came home to his family.

And two guests.

“Donald, company arrived while ye were gone,” Scrooge told him almost as soon as he walked in, giving him a weird look.

“Oh?” He was tired and just wanted to sleep. Why did this matter to him, especially enough for it to be the first thing Scrooge said?

“Aye. They showed up two days ago looking for ye.”

“Oh.” Company for him. That meant he needed to deal with it. “Where are they?”

“Sitting room on the second floor,” Scrooge answered, though he was already leading Donald to it.

He stepped into the room and his eyes widened, for sitting on the couch was a very familiar face.

“Mind explaining how ye know Everett Ducklair, of all people?” Scrooge asked, eying Donald.

“We met when he worked at the tower,” Everett answered for him, standing up and smiling towards Donald. “It’s been a long time, my friend.”

“Yeah,” Donald agreed, staring at him and glancing towards the stranger. He wanted to believe, but he didn’t dare. “I thought you had gone, uh, home?”

“We needed to speak to you immediately.”

“Inconvenient that you were gone,” the stranger added in a familiar voice, and Donald wanted to cry.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he said, eyes on the other duck. “I thought you were gone.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” Uno laughed, glancing at his master before moving over to Donald, taking one of his hands in his own. “It’s good to see you, Old Cape.”

Scrooge looked confused but Donald just smiled.

“When did you start wearing gloves?” Uno asked suddenly, directing his gaze to Donald’s hand. “That’s a new development.”

Donald laughed awkwardly. “I started wearing them when the boys were three. I’m sure you met them already,” he added. Uno nodded.

“Yeah. They told us a lot of things, actually...”

“Let’s not get off track here, Uno,” Everett cut in. “Donald, we need to speak to you about a serious matter. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

And just like that, Paperinik returned to Duckburg and Ducklair Tower became operational again.

* * *

 Honestly, he should have expected that he wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from Uno forever.

“Why _are_ you wearing gloves?” Uno asked one night, weeks later, while Donald was on patrol. He didn’t know how he got pulled back into hero work, but it was exhilarating. He’d forgotten why he did it in the first place. “You wear them when you’re Paperinik but also when you’re Donald.”

Donald looked down at the shield. “I just prefer to wear gloves now,” he excused, not wanting to admit the truth, or even half of it- how could he possibly explain his hands to Uno?

He didn’t know why- Uno was one of his closest friends, even after twelve years apart. Why was he still hiding it from him?

Granted, Donald hid it from his other friends, too. Mickey, Goofy, Daisy and Minnie were the only ones besides Gladstone, Fethry, other sorcerers and the Greek gods to know what he was. Everyone else- they didn’t know. He was too... worried? Afraid?

Or maybe he was just a creature of habit.

Uno peered out at him from the visual feed, not seeming convinced but not pushing the matter either.

“Alright then. I think it’s time for you to go home, it’s half past midnight. If anything pops up I’ll call you.”

Donald gave his friend a mock salute before the visual feed went dark, and he quickly made his way home. Uno, clearly, knew something was up.

Scrooge hadn’t questioned his gloves, nor had Gladstone (whom Donald never showed the gold feathers to). The triplets were used to it- it would be strange for them to see him _without_ gloves, he’d worn them as long as they could even remember- and just thought “it’s an Uncle Donald thing.” Webby accepted it easily enough, never even indicating that she thought it might be strange, and Mickey- well, Mickey had _always_ worn gloves and seemed delighted to find that Donald had “joined the club.”

Everyone else just accepted it, so why did Uno seem so bothered by it? Donald couldn’t help but worry. Was such a small change enough to alert Uno that things weren’t quite what they seemed?

Maybe it was those worries that led to what happened. Donald was so busy worrying about Uno’s suspicions that he didn’t even notice Uno worrying about _him._

“Donald, what’s bothering you?” Uno finally spoke up, grabbing his arm and stopping him from leaving the 151st floor.

“What? Bothering? Me? No, nothing, of course,” Donald answered much too awkwardly, laughing nervously and rubbing the back of his head. Uno raised a brow.

“You’re worrying me,” Uno finally told him.

Donald blinked and let his hand fall to his side. “I... I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. Uno was watching him earnestly, and Donald felt guilt eating at him. His friend _was_ worried. Uno wasn’t easily worried.

Maybe, Donald thought, he should stop fretting so much over whether or not Uno found out the truth and just-

Then Uno grabbed his hand. It wasn’t a hostile motion- he just grabbed his hand, much like he had when Donald returned to the mansion to find Uno and Everett waiting for him. It was almost a pleading action this time, though, conveying Uno’s concern and desire to help him, but...

For some reason, Donald pulled- yanked might be a better descriptor, really- his hand away, fear spiking through him, and he just barely saw the flash of hurt in Uno’s eyes before a metaphorical wall slammed down.

_No._ He couldn’t let that happen- Uno was his best friend, he couldn’t bear to be the android’s source of pain- he’d only just gotten his friend back, he didn’t want to lose him again, even just emotionally.

“Uno-” he started, but Uno backed up and raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry,” Uno said, even though he hadn’t done anything, and Donald felt a knot in his stomach.

“No- I’m sorry- I didn’t- I just...” Donald didn’t know what to do. His mind was racing- what did he think Uno was doing? Trying to slip the glove off? Uno wasn’t that kind of person. He might have kept tabs on who around him was working for a secret agency or organization, but he wouldn’t pull something like that.

Uno just shrugged, as if he wasn’t sure what to do now either.

There was an awkward silence between them- and suddenly Donald could feel those twelve years in that space, a divide between them that felt too large to cross- before Uno turned around and went back over to the computers.

“You should get home,” Uno said, his words short. “It’s almost dinner time.”

It was a dismissal. He might as well have said _get out._ Donald couldn’t just let it go, though- this was _Uno._

And Donald had hurt him.

He hesitated before turning to leave. Then he stopped and looked down at his hands.

This was Uno. Why was he lying to _Uno?_ All of his other close friends knew. And Uno was so much more than a close friend- he knew Donald in ways no one else, not even Della, did.

He gritted his teeth and turned around, and before he could change his mind he said, “I’m a sorcerer!”

Uno paused what he was doing, the only indication Donald had that he was listening.

“I’m a sorcerer, okay? I’ve been a sorcerer since I was seventeen, and before that an apprentice at fourteen.” Now that he was speaking he couldn’t stop it- it just poured out. “I’ve known I had magic since I was five, and I’ve been practicing it as long as I can even remember, but I was hiding it from everyone- only my sister, my cousins and some childhood friends knew. By the time I met you I’d already been hiding it for fifteen years, I didn’t know how to say it, okay?

“And then- you didn’t even believe in magic,” he continued, walking towards Uno and silently begging him to just _turn around._ “You thought magic was a hoax, and I didn’t know how to say it anyway, or how to bring it up, and you were relatively unaffected the times I used magic around you- the blue bill, remember? That was magic- and it wasn’t the first time I tried, but you didn’t react the first time because your sensors aren’t made to pick up on that kind of energy and it took so much for the illusion to show up in your visual, and- and- and-”

“Breathe,” Uno interrupted, and Donald took a breath he hadn’t even realize he needed.

Donald’s shoulders sagged and he rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, Uno- I didn’t... I wanted to tell you, when the Evronians were gone, but then Everett came back and _you_ were gone... and then you came back but it’s been almost thirty years and I’ve never even _said_ that to anyone. Not even Scrooge or the boys know- will you please just look at me?”

There were a few seconds before Uno finally turned around. Donald couldn’t read his expression and that scared him.

“So why are you telling me now?” Uno asked simply, watching him.

Donald fidgeted before tugging a glove off, holding his hand out for his friend to see. “You kept asking about the gloves and... magic... has a tendency to make physical changes,” he explained while Uno took in the sight of his hand.

It was completely golden over the wrist now, and just like with Donald’s mentor there were golden spiderweb-like lines extending, reaching further from his wrist to the middle of his forearm, almost like veins through his feathers.

“The only option was either to hide them with gloves or use an illusion charm,” he explained, keeping still as Uno took his wrist, examining his hand. He was frowning, brow scrunched up (if Donald hadn’t known Uno before, he would have never guessed he was an android, everything about him was painfully realistic right down to his expressions), and Donald could see the concern again. “But charms have to be updated and don’t work on everyone or everything- like cameras, so much more magic has to be used to fool technology than a person’s eyes- so I chose to just start wearing gloves and-”

“If magic does this to you,” Uno interrupted again, looking up at Donald, “why do you do it?”

Donald swallowed. “Because if I don’t do it- or use it- or... it builds up. It gets dangerous, out of control- I...”

Uno waited patiently while Donald collected his thoughts.

“When I was eight, I tried to stop using it. I was scared of it- I did something I shouldn’t have been able to, to save my cousin’s life, but it was out of control and I wasn’t really... conscious,” he said carefully. “I don’t remember it at all. Gladstone witnessed it and was nervous around me for months. He told me what happened- what he saw- the pond was a whirlpool, a mess, and I was at the center of it all, it just... around me... and... I thought, if I could do that when I was just a child, without even meaning to, what would happen to my family? What if I hurt one of them? I was scared, so I... I stopped.

“And it was terrible,” he continued, averting his gaze. “I felt like I was suffocating all the time, and there was pressure I couldn’t relieve, and then it all just... I ran away from the others into the woods and it... I don’t know, it lashed out and I couldn’t control it. Everything caught fire.” He looked back at Uno earnestly, hoping he understood. “I had to start using it again or else that would happen, and an untrained sorcerer is just as dangerous as a suppressed sorcerer.”

He paused. There was only one other reason he had, but he wasn’t sure if Uno would understand it. “And... I _like_ magic,” he admitted. “It’s part of me, and using it is as natural as breathing.”

The silence was loud to Donald. He felt suddenly afraid- why wasn’t Uno saying anything?

Then Uno sighed and let go of Donald’s hand. “So that’s what it was.”

“Huh?” Donald blinked, confused, and stared at his friend. “You... believe me?”

Uno raised a brow at him. “I knew there was something off about you years ago- that tends to happen when you leave the sight of a security camera on Blue Jay Boulevard and appear in the sight of one on Red Robin Road across town.”

Donald flushed- he had always been careful about leaving the view of any security camera, just in case, before using any magic. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to him that teleporting would give anything away, but he could definitely see how that would tip his friend off that he wasn’t completely normal.

“And, of course, that in combination with the amount of times you won a battle that should have been literally impossible, you surviving events that you shouldn’t have, enemies who changed sides at the last moment, your impressive recovery rate-”

“I get the picture,” Donald interrupted. “A lot of things that happened made no sense. So you knew?”

“No. I just knew there was something off about you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Donald asked, pulling his glove back on. “I would have told you _years_ ago if you had mentioned it.”

“You would have told me if you wanted me to know,” Uno excused, shrugging.

“You didn’t feel the same when you brought up me being a secret agent.”

“Because that would directly interfere with your work as Paperinik. You being able to do weird, illogical things didn’t interfere, if anything it just gave you better odds, so I chose not to bring it up unless you did.”

Donald rubbed his head awkwardly and sighed. “So why did you get so fixated on the fact that I was wearing gloves, anyway?”

“I _wasn’t_ fixated on it,” Uno countered, unimpressed. “I literally mentioned it twice, and only asked why once.”

“... Oh.”

“Is _that_ what had you so freaked out the past three weeks?”

“Maybe...”

* * *

 Donald felt ridiculous for ever trying to hide it from Uno- his work became so much easier when he didn’t try to hide it, and now he didn’t have to scramble to hide his magic artifacts when the android called him.

It actually made him reconsider hiding it from Scrooge and the kids. If Uno, logical Uno, could accept his magic, then surely so could Scrooge, who was friends with literal gods?

He almost said it.

“Scrooge?” he had called in the hallway, getting the old duck’s attention.

“Yes, Donald?”

He opened his mouth.

_I’m a sorcerer,_ he tried to say. The words wouldn’t come out.

Instead he said, “I’m gonna be spending the day with Uno.”

_Dammit, Donald!_

Scrooge raised a brow. “Alright. And ye’re telling me... why? Ye’re almost thirty-six now, it’s not like ye need permission.”

“Because the kids don’t have school today,” he said, remembering Dewey and Louie cheering about it being a teacher work day. “So thought you’d like to know I won’t be home, so if there’s any problems-”

“Aye, I get it,” Scrooge nodded, waving Donald’s explanation away. “I’ll be sure tae keep an eye on them.”

“Thanks, Uncle Scrooge.”

He just couldn’t say it.

* * *

 “Donald- your hands...”

Donald flinched, turning around to find Gladstone standing in his kitchen. Gladstone’s eyes were wide, looking at Donald’s hands holding the plate he was washing.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Donald demanded, quickly putting the plate back into the sink and grabbing a towel, drying his hands off.

“What happened to your hands?” Gladstone asked, grabbing Donald’s wrist before he could grab his gloves. “Is this why you started wearing those things? You’re hiding this- whatever it is from us?”

Donald looked at Gladstone, who looked a little freaked out. Donald had always been nervous about Donald’s magic, but he’d become used to it after a while.

He could feel Gladstone’s own energy- stronger now that they were older, but still uncontrollable, still free- try to mix with his own, but his own magic denied it as it always had. They had never been able to mix or even touch. Gladstone’s would reach out but his own would refuse.

This time, however, there was a frantic quality to it, the energy trying to force its way to Donald through the waves. Gladstone was freaking out.

Donald sighed. There was no use in lying to Gladstone. “Magic sometimes leaves physical signs,” he explained, carefully prying Gladstone’s grip from his wrist. “My feathers are changing colour the more I use magic. It started slow, but lately it’s been changing faster.”

“When did it start changing?” Gladstone asked, clearly concerned. At least, Donald mused, he didn’t tell Donald to stop.

But of course he wouldn’t- he saw what happened when he tried the first time.

“I noticed it when I was seventeen, a while after I got my staff,” Donald answered, rubbing his eyes. “It was just a tinge back then, on my fingers and palm. It probably started years before, I just didn’t notice.”

“So in just fifteen years, it went from a tinge to your _entire hand?”_

Donald shrugged. “I’m more advanced now,” he pointed out, turning back to continue washing dishes. “I use more magic now, proper spells and stuff. It’ll probably be up to my elbows by the time I’m forty-five.”

“You’ll be a completely golden duck by the time you’re sixty at that rate!” Gladstone sounded almost alarmed. “No offense, Donald, but gold is _not_ your colour.”

“Trust me, I know,” Donald deadpanned. “And being a sorcerer means I’ll live a lot longer than most people,” he added, “so probably most my life will be spent as a gold duck. But when it comes to that, I’ll have figured out how to hide it.”

He’d come to terms with all of this years ago.

Gladstone rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Let me guess, you’re going to continue to further your studies.”

“Of course!” Donald almost laughed, glancing over his shoulder at Gladstone. “Magic’s a part of me, it’s who I am!”

Gladstone had nothing to say to that. Instead he just nodded in understanding. “Of course. So, when do you plan on telling the rest of our family about who you really are?”

It felt like a slap in the face.

Donald stared at his reflection in the now-clean plate. Gladstone was watching him, waiting for an answer they both knew would never come.

* * *

 “I’m gonna tell them.”

Uno and Gladstone both looked up from their staring contest. “Tell who what?” Gladstone asked, confused, while Uno just raised a brow.

Donald dropped down into the dining room chair beside Uno, leaning his arms on the table. Scrooge and the kids were off on an adventure with Launchpad and Mrs. Beakley was at the store. Gladstone had been hanging around a lot more- and, somewhat irritatingly, Donald found himself falling back into their almost-brotherly dynamic- and Donald invited Uno over.

He needed advice, and Gladstone and Uno were the only people nearby he could think to ask.

Uno and Gladstone had never met before, but Uno knew Gladstone from Donald’s recounted stories. Uno was not being very friendly, either, but then again neither was Gladstone.

He ignored it for now.

“I’m gonna tell Scrooge and the kids about me being a sorcerer,” Donald clarified, and Gladstone’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I just don’t know how.”

“You could just say ‘hey, I’m a sorcerer’,” Gladstone said, leaning on the table.

“It was hard enough when I said that to Uno, and he doesn’t have a grudge against magicians,” Donald replied.

“Wait, he knows?”

“Donald told me six and a half months ago.”

Had it really been that long? It didn’t feel like it.

“Oh.”

“In his usual dramatic way.”

“Of course! How else would he do it?”

Okay. It looked like those two would get along better than Donald expected.

“Guys,” he cut in. “I could really use some advice? I mean, Uno’s the only one I’ve ever actively _told_ and looking back at that conversation is... well, I’d rather not repeat that.”

“Just show them then,” Gladstone suggested. “Like you showed me.”

“Or,” Uno spoke up, “you could calmly sit them down and explain the situation. Your cousin here could help you, since he’s been in on the secret from the start.”

Of course, Uno was ever the logical one.

In the end, Donald decided to mix the ideas- sit them down, talk to them and show them. Explain to the boys how he knew what he did about _their_ abilities. Clear the air, wipe away thirty years of hiding.

And he came so very close. He dragged Uno into it, his presence calming Donald, and the duck managed to sit his uncle, nephews and Webby down.

He was mere words from telling them the truth when it happened.

There was a rumbling. Instinctively Donald grabbed the closest thing to him- Uno’s arm- while Gladstone latched onto Donald’s arm, and the children grabbed onto each other.

“Earthquake?” Scrooge asked, but Donald knew it wasn’t.

He felt it- the overwhelming, suffocating darkness, and he could see Gladstone and the triplets felt it too.

“What is that?!” Huey whispered, a hand covering his beak.

“Donald- that’s-” Gladstone started, his grip tightening.

“I know,” Donald breathed, standing up abruptly despite the house shaking. Shadows grew darker, climbing up the walls and blocking the light from the windows.

“What’s happening?!” Webby squealed, but Scrooge noticed as Donald, Gladstone and the triplets all seemed to turn as one towards the back of the room.

Violet light shot out of the ground, and Donald watched, his heart beating painfully, as it took shape. He recognized Della’s silhouette, and then she was _there._

She wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Mom?!” the triplets chorused and immediately started running to her, followed by everyone else- the house was shaking so hard, plaster dust was starting to fall.

However, Donald reeled back as the spear’s energy slammed into him, and his boys and Gladstone did the same, each one stumbling back and away from it.

Scrooge dropped down beside Della, unaffected by the spear, and Webby noticed the Ducks and Gladstone hanging back, seemingly frozen.

Uno stayed by Donald, unable to feel what the biological did but knowing by his expression that it wasn’t good.

“Uncle Donald?” Louie’s voice was shaky. “What... what is that?”

“The Spear of Selene,” Donald answered simply, watching as Della’s eyes slowly opened.

“Where am I,” she muttered before taking in the scene. Then her eyes widened. “Oh no!” She shot up. “Magica’s free!”

And then she fell down again, but Scrooge caught her. “Della, lass!” Scrooge had tears in his eyes, and Donald did too- no use in lying. His sister was back.

But so was the spear, and so was Magica.

There was a flurry of activity- Donald was tasked with taking Della to a guest room while Scrooge himself dealt with the spear. Donald did as he was asked, carrying Della to one of the rooms on the first floor- he’d take her to her old bedroom, but the door to the hallway was sealed and he didn’t want to walk through his old room again.

The children followed him, and so did Gladstone. Uno didn’t.

Everything was wrong.

Magica escaped the world of shadows thanks to an outside force- her magic, strong enough to manifest even as a shadow, had found someone to do it.

Someone with magic, her own flesh and blood.

Donald knew without a doubt that it was Lena- the only other person in Duckburg with any significant amount of magic. It had been weaker than Magica’s, young and untrained yet just as wild. But how, he wondered, had she gotten an artifact strong enough to pull from the world of shadows?

“It’s so dark,” Gladstone whispered, staring at the windows.

Unfortunately, whatever was used to tear open the plane between worlds didn’t discriminate. It didn’t pull just Magica- it pulled Della, it pulled the spear, and it pulled the shadows themselves.

“Shadows,” Donald explained quietly. “From the world Della banished Magica to.”

“The world between the worlds?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going on?” Dewey demanded. “What _is_ the Spear of Selene?”

“It’s an artifact,” Gladstone explained while Donald looked down at Della. She was breathing, sleeping after almost twelve years stuck as a shadow. She was here. “When it’s used, it, uh, banishes its target and its user. Your mom used it to banish Magica de Spell.”

Donald was going to make sure she stayed that way.

He protested. He protested them going after Magica- _she’s too dangerous,_ he insisted, _you can’t win,_ but Scrooge had won before so surely he could do it again.

_The last time you didn’t win._

They went anyway. As soon as Della was standing, she refused to back down. They refused to tell her where they hid the spear, but finally cracked and let her go with them to face Magica.

Donald protested, but if there was one thing he had in common with his family... they were stubborn.

“Stay here and keep an eye on the spear,” Della had said, her hands on his arms for the first time in over a decade. He hugged her.

“Please be safe,” he practically begged, and then she was gone, along with Scrooge and the kids. He didn’t approve of it, but he had to trust them.

It just made his part easier.

Finding where Scrooge hid the spear wasn’t hard- it was like lightning, and he was the rod. It was on the top floor, behind a lock. It wasn’t hard for Donald to get in, and then there it was in all its horrific glory.

It was still so beautiful, yet so frightening. But it was the only way Donald knew to end this without losing anyone else.

“I knew it.”

Donald jumped in surprise, looking over at Uno. He blinked.

“How long were you there?”

“Basically ever since your uncle put the spear in there,” Uno answered, stepping away from the wall next to the door. “He didn’t notice me slip in, he was too distracted.”

“Ah...” Uno was waiting for him, Donald realized.

Uno stepped over to him. “Don’t,” he warned.

“Why not?” Donald asked, creeping back towards where the spear laid on a table.

“Because I don’t want to fight you.”

Was Uno threatening him? Donald studied Uno for any sign of a bluff. He didn’t see on.

Uno was staring at him, waiting for Donald’s choice.

_Della and the kids are out there,_ he told himself quietly. _I have to do this- Della did it, and it worked. It would have kept working if it wasn’t for..._

He shouldn’t think that. He was sure it was Lena, but Lena was just a child- and, maybe, she had nothing to do with it.

But that wasn’t the point, he told himself. Della was back. He could use the spear, just like she did, and since he had magic he could use it more effectively- he could trap Magica in that other world. For good.

He turned to grab the spear, but within moments found himself on the ground, Uno pinning him down.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded, struggling slightly before managing to grab Uno’s arms, flipping them so Uno was pinned instead.

“Not letting you use that spear!” Uno kicked him off, and Donald barely managed to catch himself, flipping away before Uno could tackle him again. Getting kicked by an android- not fun, Donald decided.

“This is _very_ unlike you, Uno!” Donald said, crouched and ready- he didn’t want to fight Uno, but this was bigger than him. Uno was in his way.

Uno watched him, now between Donald and the spear. “You’ve never put me in this situation before,” Uno told him simply. The two stared each other down as the shadows shifted around them.

It was dark in the room, the only light the eerie violet being cast by the spear. Donald knew Uno could see better than he himself could- darkness never bothered Uno before.

Donald charged, ducking left at the last moment, but found Uno’s arm against his chest anyway- _damn reaction time!-_ knocking him back again.

“Dammit, Uno, look around!” he hissed, rubbing his chest and glaring at his friend. “This is important!”

“Do something else!” Uno countered, gritting his teeth. Donald shook his head, trying to dart around Uno. The android simply grabbed his arms, scowling. “You said you’re a sorcerer, and Magica de Spell is just a witch- do something else!”

“I can’t!” Donald struggled against his friend, but Uno was an android- he was stronger than Donald could ever hope to be. “She’s a master, and these _things_ are her element!”

Uno refused to let go. “That never stopped you before.”

“Before, I had the upper hand with magic,” Donald reminded Uno. “This time she does. All we have is the spear!”

Donald felt himself pushed to the ground, Uno having him pinned by the wrists. He was completely unable to even grab Uno to push him, and the android had his legs trapped too.

If it had been anyone else, Donald wouldn’t have hesitated to use his magic.

But this was Uno. Uno was an android. He didn’t know how his magic would react with that- he never dared try it before, and he certainly wasn’t about to risk _Uno’s_ life testing it out.

Even if Uno was between him and his objective.

“You’re being short sighted,” Uno actually growled, staring down at Donald. “You have me! You have your kids! Your sister, your cousin, your uncle! You have so many people, and if you’d just for a moment trust us to help you, maybe you’d figure out there is another way!”

“You don’t get it!” Donald finally gave up his struggle. “She’s a master witch and I’m a... a jack of all trades sorcerer. She’s stronger with her element than I am in _any.”_

Uno’s eyes narrowed at him. “No. You’re versatile- she might be a master of one element, but you know so many others. You could play on her weaknesses, but instead you jump immediately to the same conclusion your sister did eleven years ago? Banish her back to the world she already escaped from once? You can’t do the same thing and expect a different result, Donald!”

“But I can keep her there! Della’s not a sorcerer, but I am!”

“And that’s exactly why I won’t let you do it!”

“It’s our best chance-”

“I won’t lose you again.”

Silence followed Uno’s statement, and Donald just looked at him.

Uno was distraught and it showed. Upset and hurt- everything Donald never wanted to cause his friend.

“What do you mean?” Donald asked. “You didn’t lose me. I lost you.”

Uno closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. “Everything’s about _perspective,_ Donald,” he said. “I was deactivated, and I thought that was it. But then I was reactivated seven years ago, far away from Earth and in this body. You weren’t there, and- you were...” He sighed, his grip loosening on Donald’s wrists. “I don’t know. It was illogical- I wanted you there with me, but... and I had no way of knowing if you were okay. Sure, you weren’t dead, but you may as well have been.

“But then we found the Evronians, and discovered they were planning on coming here! And Master Ducklair decided, we should return to warn you... and stay, because there was nothing left for him on Corona.” Uno looked at him again, and Donald was surprised to find that there were actual tears in his friend’s eyes.

Androids weren’t supposed to be able to cry.

“And maybe it’s illogical, but I was happy to come back! Especially when he asked me to stay here in Duckburg and continue helping you again- and we got here, and you were here, and you were _safe._ It made me really happy. And I don’t want you to go away again- especially like this.” He lifted a hand, gesturing emphatically to the spear. “Nothing’s going to change, Donald. The only thing that would change is you’d be gone, fighting Magica forever in some world none of us can reach, leaving the rest of us behind to be miserable and full of regret!”

_Just like after Della disappeared,_ he thought, suddenly understanding. He’d never seen his friend so emotional- Uno looked like he was seconds from a complete breakdown.

It hurt to see him like that.

Without thinking, Donald freed his other hand and pulled Uno down into a hug. Uno held onto him, as if afraid to let him go.

“Why won’t you let us help you?” Uno asked, but Donald didn’t answer.

They stayed that way for a few moments, but the sound of someone clearing their throat got both their attention. Gladstone was standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them. Donald wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” Gladstone said as Donald let go of Uno, allowing the android to climb back to his feet. “I heard the yelling and was, uh... alarmed.”

_Concerned._

Uno offered Donald a hand and helped him back up.

“What are you doing in here?” Gladstone asked nervously, his eyes flicking to the spear. Donald glanced at Uno and sighed.

“Nothing,” he decided, reaching his hand out. His staff began to materialize, and beside him Uno made a small sound of surprise. “I haven’t gotten to thank Magica for returning my sister yet.”

* * *

 It wasn’t hard to find his family. All he had to do was follow the storm, after all.

Gladstone and Uno followed him, unsure about where he was going, and Donald ran with purpose, staff clutched in his hand, in the direction Magica’s energy was rolling in from. They found the family cornered, Scrooge standing in front of Della who stood in front of the children.

“What’s the plan, Dee?” Gladstone asked quietly, eying the witch’s back.

“Type advantage,” Uno threw out simply, and Donald understood.

Of course. Magica was a master of shadows- she was dark magic, as was the spear and the shadows that escaped with her. He nodded and strode forward, lifting his staff in front of him.

Della and Scrooge saw him first, the former’s eyes widening in horror and the latter’s in shock. Magica noticed, whirling around to face Donald, but by then it was too late.

The crystal in Donald’s staff glowed before a golden light shot into the air, exploding high above the city. The world, overtaken by shadows, lit up as numerous golden balls of light formed and continued to explode outwards, over the city, and shimmering sparks fell down to the earth below.

The shadows reeled, shrinking away from the light, and started disappearing as Donald’s spell left no room for them to hide and the sparks rained down upon them, burning through their darkness.

“Sorcerer, then?” Magica asked, smirking and gripping her wand. “You McDucks are full of surprises!”

“The McDucks may be full of surprises,” Donald said, grip tightening on his staff, “but this is all Duck.”

“Not that it matters,” the witch cackled, twirling her wand before throwing a blasting spell at Donald. He dodged to the side. “You’re all alone, little duck.”

“He’s not alone!” Huey declared, darting forward around his mom and pulling his arm back, a fireball forming in his hand. Magica turned sharply, barely managing to dodge the fireball as it flew past her face.

“More?!”

Dewey leapt forward, the water running through the gutter lifting itself at his command and jumping into his hand to form a whip, little icy spikes forming along it, and tree roots burst from the ground, racing towards Magica.

The witch threw herself into the air, conjuring up a broom.

“Donald, what’s going on?!” Scrooge demanded.

“Donald, you didn’t tell me they had magic too!” Gladstone yelped at the same time, turning to his cousin.

“Not the time!” Donald answered both of them, watching as Magica was bombarded with ice, fire and thorns. “Uno, hold my staff.”

“What-”

He pushed the staff into Uno’s hands- just for a moment- and pulled his gloves off, throwing them at Gladstone’s face. Then he took his staff back, almost as quickly as he had handed it off.

Against his feathers, the staff seemed to hum. “This will make things easier,” he said, letting his magic run directly into the staff rather than through a layer of cloth. “I have a plan. Get to the others,” he commanded, glancing between his cousin and his friend. “It’s not safe over here.”

Both ducks seemed to understand as they did as told without question.

“Magica,” Donald called to the witch who flipped through the air, throwing up a forcefield between herself and the child elementals. She turned to glare at him. “Fight me like a real witch.”

She snarled. “You’re getting in over your head, boy!” she yelled, allowing herself to drop down to the ground, her forcefield still up behind her. “You might be a sorcerer, but I- I am a master.”

“I don’t need to be a master,” he said, slamming the base of his staff into the ground. The ground around them lit up and a barrier shot up into a dome, separating them from the rest of the city.

“Donald!” Della yelled, rushing forward.

Magica scowled. “Darkness may be weak to light,” she said, “but the light is also weak to dark. I can break this barrier.”

“Yes,” Donald agreed. “But I won’t.”

Then he lifted his staff, and as he pushed forward as much light magic as he could, he slammed the crystal into the ground, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

The result was immediate. The magic in the crystal exploded outwards, lashing out and filling the dome with a bright, almost electrical flashing light.

Magica screamed and Donald grit his teeth, feeling his own energy stutter and crash around him- his hands burned and the wood of the staff shattered in his hands. He dropped to his knees, feeling the overwhelming amount of magic he’d forced into the crystal in the moment it shattered dancing across his feathers. He trembled, feeling weak and sick.

He could hear screaming. They were screaming his name. The light lasted so long, but it was his own light- his own magic. It had no effect on him. It sparked through his feathers, hitting his barrier and jumping back, swirling around him- through him- and leaving him gasping for breath and weak.

But it didn’t leave a single mark on him.

When the light died down and he could see again, he noticed his hands and arms covered in gashes- from the shattering wood, he knew. The gold on his hands and arms seemed to have extended a good inch just from that one stupid, dangerous, completely irresponsible move, but he couldn’t care.

In front of him Magica laid, sprawled on the ground and unconscious. Her wand and her broom were shattered, as was a crystal pendant Donald hadn’t even realized she’d been wearing (he dimly recognized it as the one Lena wore). Her magic sputtered weakly around her, like his own did.

His light overwhelmed her darkness. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t gone. But she was weak.

The barrier shattered, dissipating into the air, and he just barely had time to register that he could see the sunlight before he collapsed, his family already halfway to his side.

* * *

 He woke up in his bedroom in the mansion. The first thing he knew was that someone was holding his hand, and another person was in his bed.

When he opened his eyes, he found Uno sitting next to his bed- he was the one holding his hand, he realized- and Della in the bed next to him, the kids curled up between the two of them. He blinked, looking around. Gladstone was on the other side of the bed, Lena- he noticed smeared eyeliner and knew she’d been crying- leaning against him, asleep. Donald couldn’t bring himself to be angry at her- she was a child and hadn’t known any better.

Scrooge was on the other side of the room, speaking quietly to a familiar face. Donald would recognize his old mentor anywhere.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” Gladstone greeted, and Donald turned his head to look at him.

“Magica...?” he asked slowly.

“Your old mentor came in and took her away. Something about keeping her in a magical holding facility. That way it’ll be longer until she escapes?” Gladstone shrugged, then winced as Lena shifted slightly.

The teen didn’t wake up and he relaxed again.

“Donald,” he heard his mentor call. Donald slowly sat up, tightening his hold on Uno’s hand when the android started to pull away.

“Sorcerer,” he greeted tiredly, rubbing his eye with his free hand. His gloves weren’t on, he noticed. “I know what I did was stupid and dangerous but-”

His mentor lifted a hand to cut him off. “You did what you could,” he said, kneeling down next to Donald’s bed and gingerly taking his hand, observing the progress of the gold. “You were up against a master of darkness who had just spent a decade in the world of shadows. There was almost nothing else you could have done.”

“Short of the Spear of Selene,” Gladstone added, frowning. “Hey, Sorcerer, there anything you can do about that?”

“The Spear of Selene should never have left its chamber,” the Sorcerer immediately said, and Donald gave Scrooge a look.

“What? I didn’t know what it did,” Scrooge defended weakly, joining the others by Donald’s bed. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But lad... why didn’t ye say anything?”

Donald sighed. “I was gonna tell you years ago, but then Magica attacked us and you told us to stay away from people who get involved in magic,” Donald explained. “I didn’t know what you’d say or do.”

“Donald, when I said that I meant _bad_ people,” Scrooge said, rubbing his forehead. “People like Magica, who aren’t good even _without_ magic.”

“Either way, it’s not like we can go back,” Gladstone cut in. “So how about we just... you know. Let Donald recover, get Della readjusted to our world, and let’s all sit down and have a conversation about it.”

“You’ll need a new staff,” the Sorcerer told Donald, releasing his hand. “It’s about time you learned how to make one, anyway. But it can wait until you have recovered- you drained yourself, pushing so much magic into your staff. If it had been anything other than light magic, you would have been killed by the backlash.”

Uno made a sound that Donald recognized as disapproval, but he felt too weak to argue with his friend.

“Guess I had luck on my side this time, eh, Gladstone?” he asked, glancing towards his cousin knowingly.

Uno tugged on his hand, earning Donald’s attention. When Donald was looking at him, Uno said, “If you _ever_ bank your life on luck again, _I’ll_ kill you myself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Donald smiled a bit. “Can I go back to sleep now? I’m... _really_ tired.”

No one protested, so he settled back down and quickly fell to sleep.

He woke up again hours later. The kids and Della were still there, and Gladstone had fallen asleep on the little couch by the bookshelf. It seemed sometime while Donald slept Fethry had arrived, as he was curled up with Gladstone. Uno was still sat in the chair by Donald’s bed, and Scrooge, the Sorcerer and Lena seemed to be elsewhere.

It was dark in the room, all except for the glowing dahlia, bellflower and tulip on his bedside table.

**Author's Note:**

> (Ignore my lowkey shipping moment(s?) because I'm trash, I promise they're just friends.)
> 
> I don't remember if I edited the Tumblr version so this might be slightly different than what's on Tumblr, sorry


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